Of Angels and Shed Tears
by AJarOfDirt
Summary: They say time will heal pain. Well, what 'they' say and what is experienced are two different things altogether. Fred's death has cut George deeper than words could explain.


**Of Angels and Shed Tears**

Characters © J. K. Rowling.

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The October air chilled George to the bone as he walked through the tall, green grass, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. Dark clouds swathed the setting sun's rays as he made his way down a familiar dirt route, crossing small streams and passing a little hut with a thin line of smoke escaping a small chimney. The mortician was home. _Probably fixing himself some tea or hot stew,_ the thought passed George mind. _He needs it. It's blisteringly cold out here._

Walking through the fields and passing endless amounts of stone angels, bells and other monuments depicting all forms of religion, George finally found what he was looking for. The headstone was guarded by two marble angels at either side, with little vases for flowers at its end and the Hogwarts crest engraved in it above the inscription:

_In loving memory of_  
_Fred Weasley_  
_Son, brother and friend_  
_Proud Order member_

George let out a short, harsh breath as the wind hit him in a more brutal fashion. Tugging his coat tighter around himself, he knelt in front of the grave, his head bowed so nobody would see the tears that fell from the crystal-like orbs that were his eyes. George struggled to inhale, the blustery weather stabbing the insides of his nostrils, making his skin feel very dehydrated and withered. Gazing at the picture also fixed on the headstone, he shook his head sadly as he reminisced his days with his twin brother. That was what he always did when he visited Fred's grave every month; he would just sit there, letting emotions run over him like a stampede of antelope.

It had been many years, but the river of tears that George had for Fred would never dry out. He did not think so. Fred had been much more to George than just a twin brother and accomplice; the two were best of friends. George remembered that as young boys, Fred and himself had a secret refuge across the field from the Burrow. It was a little ditch that they had dug themselves for their games and for them to plot and plan new tricks on their family members. They had left the ditch alone for years after they entered Hogwarts, school eventually their new sanctuary for things like that. Following the initial months of Fred's passing, George had returned to it once, only to find it had been filled up with years' worth of thicket and insects. He had stayed there overnight, mourning the loss of his brother.

Then there were the times when the two of them would muck about and cause havoc wherever they went. When they started taking their jokes to a different level with actual merchandise they had designed themselves, they were at the pivotal points of their lives – having the most fun, and actually obtaining a goal at the same time. George vividly recalled an incident when Fred sportingly agreed to test out one of their creations and sprouted various limbs from all sides of his body, landing himself in St. Mungo's for several weeks during the summer. There were times when Fred would take most of the blame for all the haphazard tricks the two brothers conjured up, despite George never asking him to and even telling him not to.

George could not stop himself thinking the never-ending chain of 'what ifs'. They always seemed to creep back into his head whenever a stray thought brought him back to Fred. He felt that he was a bad brother for not looking out for Fred. Even as children, Fred was always the 'dominant' twin, making sure George did not get into any sort of trouble that he could not get himself out of and looking out for him. Thus, George just felt that if he had protected his brother as the latter had done so for him, Fred would not have had to die.

Looking in the mirror every morning was painful, looking at and calling his son, Fred, was excruciating and finally, looking at his life then, complete with a successful Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and a good family, was simply torturous. George felt immensely lucky indeed. He could have died in that battle with Fred, but he did not. He managed to escape, but that only made his self-deprecating thoughts worsen. Why should he escape and Fred die? It was not very fair. People had been trying to tell him things like, "Life just isn't fair," but most of them who did had not lost a loved one. They did not know what it was really like.

"Oi! You there!" the voice of the funeral director shot George back to the present. "Best get out of there if you don't want to freeze to death! Forecast says there's going to be heavy rains tonight and that's always blizzard-cold!"

Wiping his eyes, George stood from his position, took one last look at his brother's headstone, turned and made his way back to his car. It had begun to drizzle. The air around him seemed to contract and he had begun to lose the feeling in his exposed skin. He gave the mortician a stiff nod goodbye and left the cemetery, turning back to look at the sea of graves only once more. The buildings in the background were the familiar ones he had been facing for five and a half years before Fred and himself launched off on their brooms much to Dolores Umbridge's chagrin...

George shook his head as he returned to his car, starting up the engine, but with no real intention of going anywhere else. He could go home and accompany his family for the night, like he would normally do on a Friday after work; or he could call Lee and Angelina up and meet them somewhere like the Leaky Cauldron for a drink or two. _No, there's something I need to do first,_ he thought, pulling out of the dirt road of the Hogwarts memorial grounds.

xxx

"George! Dear, I wasn't expecting you!" Molly's hurried speech greeting him as he stepped out of his car and gave his mother a hug. "Your father's inside."

"Thanks Mum," George smiled and he followed her into the house.

"Have you eaten, dear? We've still got chicken here. Now that all the children are out of the house, I really shouldn't cook so much, but I'm just so used to it. I'll just go heat that up with some potatoes..." Molly bustled around the kitchen, pots and pans clinging and clanging in the background. George grinned as his father, Arthur, rolled his eyes.

"Molly, let your son settle in first, don't work yourself out too much," he said, looking up from the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ he had in his hand to return a beam to his son. "And how've you been, George? How's Alice and little Fred, hmm?"

"Oh, they're fine, Dad, thanks," George's smile widened as his father laughed a hearty, warm chuckle.

"Well, that's good to hear. So what are you doing here all of a sudden? Won't Alice want you home to help with the errands?"

"Don't worry, Dad, this won't take very long. I, uh, actually...came here to get Fred's things. You know, his clothes, his Beater bat..." George thought that straightforwardness was the best thing for them right then as his happy expression slowly turned sombre. There was no point beating around the bush.

Arthur's expression instantly turned a little sadder as he put the _Prophet_ down for a moment. "Does your mother know?"

"No."

"Well, then you best leave the explaining part to me. I don't want her biting your head off about it. What do you need them for, though?"

"Leave that to me, will you, Dad? This is something I need to do on my own," George let a tentative smile crease his cheerless appearance.

Arthur let out a dismal chuckle, but smiled softly at George. "I still think about him too much. That night still makes me wonder about a lot of things...we both do. When you returned to the Burrow with only one ear left, Fred was shell-shocked. He cared too much about things, George. It was what got him killed."

George lifted his hand to the hole at the side of his head and touched what was left of his blasted-off ear. "Have you been to his grave recently, Dad?"

"Yes, just last week with your mother, in fact. It was cold as tonight, in fact, but there was a certain air of dignity about it. Your brother's monument is a warrior's one, George. Don't you_ ever_ forget that. He was a fighter, and he saved all the people he loved and cared for," Arthur let out a cough, trying to disguise the thickness in his voice due to heartache.

George swallowed, his own eyes glistening with the presence of fresh tears, "I-I'll be upstairs."

x

The memories flooded his psyche as George stepped into the bedroom he had once shared with Fred. After his death, Ron had brought Fred's personal belongings back to the Burrow at their parents' request and upon seeing those things all over again, the unforgettable past crept back into view.

George decided that lingering in the room would do himself no good and quickly gathered all the things he felt he should take with him, leaving behind a set of Fred's clothes, his school books and anything else related to academics. Those were not Fred's favourite things, so they had to stay behind.

Walking downstairs with a box laden with objects from Memory Lane, George nodded a goodbye to his father from the stairwell and snuck out the back door.

xxx

Once again, the bone-chillingly cold air hit him hard in the face as he opened the door and made the long trip across the field he knew too well. It was the field for Quidditch, the field for family outings and picnics, the field where many firsts had happened for George and his siblings. He vaguely remembered learning how to ride a broomstick on this very field and how Ron would refuse to walk on the grass as a young boy in fear of the spiders that might nest in it.

Walking over to a spot that he once called his refuge, George gazed longingly at it. The undergrowth had much overgrown and it looked as though nothing had been dug up there previously. But George knew. He knew from all the experiences and memories that were experienced in that very ditch – the one that Fred and himself had painstakingly dug out in order to have a place to read, to play an innocent game of wizard's chess or to scheme against siblings and other unwanted intrusions...

George conjured a shovel quickly and begun to dig. He dug until he could not feel his fingers and until the original depth of the ditch was recreated. He then tossed in the items that he had gathered from his and Fred's childhood bedroom, including Fred's broomstick, his Quidditch robes, his Beater Bat, a set of prototypes for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and his favourite bed sheets.

The hole filled up quickly and it was when everything was finished that George realised that he had been crying throughout the whole thing. He would not try to hide those tears, not after so many years. It was useless to do so, just as it was to hold on.

But deep in his heart, George knew that no matter what he did, whether it was trying to bury his demons in the ground in the form of Fred's personal items, or waking up in the middle of the night screaming his brother's name, he would not get over what had happened that quickly. It might take the rest of his life to understand and to accept, but he was willing to wait. He began to tearfully bury the items, hoping that it would somehow ease the pain and pave the road to acceptance.

xxx

_And if you were with me tonight_  
_I'd sing to you just one more time_  
_A song for a heart so big_  
_God couldn't let it live_

_May angels lead you in_  
_Hear you, me, my friends_  
_On sleepless roads_  
_The sleepless go_  
_May angels lead you in_

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**Author's Notes**

I had this idea to write about George after Fred had died for quite some time now, but nothing had ever really materialised until now. I got inspired to do this after listening to Jimmy Eat World's _Hear You Me _for the first time, which is a very touching and a very beautiful song about death. I liked the idea of the story better at the time it was conceived, and came up with some good ideas for it as well, but after I penned it out, it just did not come out as I had expected. Nevertheless, I really hope you enjoyed what you read.

And the headstone message is quite horribly written in my opinion, but I just have no idea how to actually write it ;) Any suggestions on how I can change it are most welcome.


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